This Is All Just Part Of the Grieving Process
by E.Wills
Summary: Hiccup deals with the new responsibilities so suddenly thrust upon him while struggling to cope with all the inner turmoil that comes with it. This takes place two weeks following the conclusion of the sequel. MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR HTTYD2! FAIR WARNING. This also builds a little off my previous stories, but just barely. Mature content in part 2. [Hiccstrid]
1. Part 1

**Author's Note: **I am not taking a break or putting my current full length story on hiatus, or anything-but I _did _see HTTYD2 recently. That, naturally, means i have some sequel-based fanfiction to write. Those of you who have followed me for a while are already aware of small differences between my work and the canon, especially now that the sequel has been released. For any new readers that have stumbled across my work, please realize I have several stories that have built on each other to create my own continuity. While it mirrors the canon for the most part, some minor, inconsequential details will be different (ie- the origin of Hiccup's scar). I just decided I was not interested in rewriting my work to be 100% accurate, according to the official canon. I'm just going to keep rollin' with what I've got—but it shouldn't be too drastic a change for any new readers of mine, out there.

******WARNING******

Massive spoilers for HTTYD2...and...er...minor _maybe_-spoilers for my story I haven't finished yet? I don't know...I really don't consider anything below a spoiler for my other fic, but I just don't know how sensitive some people are about things...and stuff.

Oh, also, warnings for some sexual content because...I mean...Hiccstrid is a beautiful thing. Am I right?

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the HTTYD franchise. Clearly.

000000000

Forgiveness was a tricky thing to master, especially in the aftermath of a tragedy that should have been avoided. It was much more natural to assign blame and hold grudges in such situations. In all honesty, hostility and judgment had been his initial, gut reaction, but Hiccup had forgiven Toothless for what he had done—really, he had.

Surprisingly, it had been much easier to do than he originally thought it would be, knowing his dragon had delivered the fatal blow that had taken his father from him. He had _hated _Toothless at first, as the Night Fury cautiously approached the lifeless body of Berk's fallen chief. For only a moment, Hiccup had wanted to lash out violently, and strike Toothless down as he might have done five years ago—but he had seen the confusion and remorse in his dragon's large, expressive eyes. Toothless' own sense of hurt was only a dull reflection of overwhelming pain that Hiccup felt kneeling by his father's body, but he could still empathize. He and Toothless always had a level of understanding between them that bound them together at the soul. He could not remain furious with the dragon, no matter how hard he desired a focal point for his heartache. That did not mean he was free of all bittnerness and regret over his father's untimely death, but there was no point in blaming his dragon for it anymore. For what could Toothless do in that moment, powerless against the will of Drago's mighty alpha species? No, the Night Fury was not to blame.

Instead, all of Hiccup's anger and hate was concentrated on that beast of a man—that godless tyrant who had turned dragons into weapons of war in order to bring the rest of the world to its knees before him. Drago was responsible for Stoick's death, Toothless' betrayal, the parital destruction of Berk—everything. Even though the Bewilderbeast had fled, disappearing beneath the waves, taking its cruel master with it, Hiccup did not feel any sense of peace or closure. No body had been recovered from the sea, or washed up along Berk's shore to confirm Drago's demise, which left nothing tangible for Hiccup to loathe, save for a memory and a shadowy specter that haunted his nightmares.

Oh, yes. The nightmares—the reason behind the recent sleepless nights that plagued him. Birthed from a combination of stress and regret, the troubling dreams were an inevitable result of the poor decisions he had made, and the ones he had yet to make. His mistakes had cost his father his life, so how many Hooligans would suffer under his leadership as Berk's new chief? Recurring visions of his father's lifeless body, and of his village as nothing but smoldering ruins, had roused Hiccup at nearly every midnight hour for two consecutive weeks immediately following Drago's assault on his island.

Yes. That was right, as odd as it was to say.

_His_ island. _His _dragons. _His_ people—who all looked to him, willing to put their absolute trust in _his_ judgment. Chief Hiccup, Master of Dragons—or whatever people saw fit to call him at the moment. Such a name was meant to intimidate his enemies and command respect, but in his opinion, such a heavy and formidable title was both inaccurate and completely absurd.

He sighed in frustration as he tightened the last strap of Toothless' flying mechanism, securing the entire apparatus in place. The Night Fury warbled softly and turned to gaze at him with a pitifully submissive look in his eyes, and Hiccup felt a pang of guilt in his chest. No matter how many times he reassured Toothless that he did not resent him for what happened on that beach, the dragon was still quick to succumb to feelings of shame and contrition if he felt Hiccup was upset, regardless of the reason. Apparently, Toothless could not forgive himself as easily as Hiccup had done—it would take a while for both of them to fully recover from it all.

"It's okay, bud," Hiccup said softly, affectionately stroking Toothless' chin. "I'm not mad at you. It's just, well...everything else."

Toothless bowed his head and nudged him gently in the chest, nearly knocking him off balance, and Hiccup laughed. The Night Fury then raised his head so they were eye-to-eye. They stared at one another silently, and Hiccup could understand Toothless as clearly as if the dragon spoke his language. He did not know why he and Toothless seemed to enjoy such a unique bond—rivaled only by Valka and Cloudjumper, perhaps—but he cherished it. Always had. Always would.

He laid his hand on Toothless' snout, comforting the dragon with a simple gesture and assuaging his doubt without words. The Night Fury closed his eyes for a moment, basking in the all of the friendship and devotion his rider had for him. There was just one simple truth that existed between them—Hiccup could not be without Toothless, and Toothless would waste away without Hiccup. Theirs was a relationship forged from a deeply rooted symbiosis of spirit-a mutual interdependence based on a compatibility of wills. Lost until they had found one another, there could not be one without the other. What the gods had sought fit to create, a mere man like Drago could not break—not with his bloodlust, nor his insatiable avarice.

"Let's go, Toothless," he told the dragon, climbing into his saddle. "I need you with me on this."

The Night Fury spread his wings with a soft rumbling sound in his throat. Then, they were gliding over the village, surveying the repairs going on below them. There was much left to be done before Berk was restored to its former glory, but such labor was not unfamiliar to a stalwart tribe of Vikings once plagued by midnight dragon attacks. Still, they had never encountered such widespread destruction, and even with the amazing progress that had been made in two short weeks, the outstanding to-do list was daunting.

Toothless gently landed in the middle of the village, taking care to avoid the few large spikes of ice that remained, jutting out at odd angles. The Hooligan dragons had been working tirelessly on melting the frozen shards with help from the sun, but a Bewilderbeast's frozen flames were resilient. The colossal crystals of ice were surprisingly resistant to normal dragons' fire-Hiccup had expected nothing less from the alpha species. He had tasked the village's Gronckles with breaking the ice into manageable pieces for the Deadly Nadders to melt, since the bird-like dragons possessed the hottest flame of any species of dragon—Astrid took great care to remind him of that fact whenever it was appropriate, with all of the playful boastfulness she could muster. In retaliation, Hiccup put her and Fishelgs in charge of all ice melting duty, claiming it was simply due to her vast knowledge of Nadders and Fishlegs' expertise with Gronckles. Astrid had seen right through him of course, and made it a point to gesture rudely when no one else was looking—they both would just have a good laugh about it later, in private.

In all the chaos and tumult that consumed him since the battle with Drago, both internally and externally, his relationship with Astrid kept him grounded. Without her sense of humor to lift his spirits, and her outspoken support of his leadership to help bolster his confidence in the face of all his mounting self-doubt, he would have cracked the moment that first unwitting soul had called him "Chief."

He patted Toothless on the side before he dismounted, switching his prosthetic leg into its more functional form. Several Vikings glanced up excitedly at the sight of him, and he only just collected himself before the inevitable swarm accosted him, as they did nearly every morning.

"Chief! There is somethin' I've been meaning' te ask ye!"

"Hiccup, I'm havin' a small matter with my dragon that I'd like ye te—"

"We just _cannot_ figure out yer mechanics for rebuildin' the dragon wash!"

"Hiccup, do ye think ye could patch up my saddle, if ye have the time?"

"There is that matter about rebuildin' those fishin' vessel the Bedwilderbeast destroyed—"

"Chief, I am concerned about the dwindlin' funds for—"

All demands, questions, and complaints combined into one irritating mass of noise that grated on Hiccup's patience. Placid, though he was, he _did_ have his limits. Fiercely private and introverted, nothing put him on edge quite like being mobbed, and Toothless warbled softly at him in concern—it was the one sound he could appreciate. He spun around with every intention of irritably reprimanding his people for their impatient onslaught, but he did have some allies left in the world to speak up on his behalf.

"If ye want te talk te the Chief, take a number and get in line!" came a familiar voice over the crowd.

The small sea of Vikings parted as Gobber hobbled forward, looking as annoyed as Hiccup felt.

"Give the lad some room te breathe! He's only freshly Chief, ye know. It took Stoick over two decades te learn te put up with the lot of ye!" the older Viking chided, waving his one good hand dismissively. "Give him a minute!"

The crowd reluctantly dispersed, muttering among themselves in disapproval as they cast Gobber reproachful stares. Hiccup, on the other hand, felt significantly less smothered, and he sighed in relief at the other man's toothy grin.

"Doin' alright there, Chief?" Gobber asked brightly.

"Don't call me that," Hiccup replied, shaking his head. "It's already weird enough without hearing it from you, too."

Gobber laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Weird enough sayin' it, trust me! It seems like only just yesterday we were callin' ye things like 'runt' or 'embarrassment.' Things sure have changed. Ye can't tell me ye'd perfer to go back to all that."

"No—but at least there'd be some familiarity to it," Hiccup replied sarcastically, and Gobber chuckled.

The two of them walked along in silence for a moment surveying the construction around them. Surrounded by all of the commotion of village-wide repairs, it was easy to have a private conversation, despite being out in the open.

"For what it's worth, Hiccup, ye've been doin' a good job. Stoick would be proud," Gobber said kindly.

Hiccup appreciated the reassurance, but there was just an inherent fear of failure that lingered over him—when one had spent his or her entire life as a disappointment, only to later enjoy overwhelming success and accomplishments, it was very hard to take a step backward. Additionally, his mistakes would impact more than just himself—and his friends, who were often so foolish enough to follow him. It was a whole new level of responsibility he did not feel adequately prepared for.

"I'm not ready for this, Gobber," he admitted.

"Ehh, no one ever is, Hiccup—but yer father believed in ye, as do I...as does the rest of Berk."

"I have no clue what I'm doing."

"So ye've learned nothin' from shadowin' yer father for the past two years?" Gobber asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Hiccup glanced at the ground, feeling all too transparent. It was true, he had spent countless hours learning the ins and outs of the chiefdom, but that had been all well and good _before_ his judgment, alone, was required. All at once, it was as if he had learned nothing. Until his father died, he did not have the responsibility of an entire village resting solely on his shoulders. The heavy decisions were not his to make. He could still be young and carefree as much as his father allowed—but there was no one else's authority for him to fall back on anymore. Suddenly, two years was not nearly enough time, and he longed for just one more day with his father. One more day to learn from him, to spend time with him, to tell him...

Hiccup cleared his throat and glanced up at Gobber. If the older man had sensed the tears threatening to fall, he did not let on.

"Yer father did not know it all when he started out, and he was only about yer age," Gobber said, gripping Hiccup's shoulder bracingly. "Besides, if ye are still so worried, that's what ye have advisers for."

Hiccup quirked an eyebrow dubiously and replied, "You mean my loving uncle, Spitelout?"

"Aye. He's yer second-in-command. He serves ye now like he served Stoick."

Hiccup scoffed and said, "I'm sure he's just _thrilled _about that, too."

"It doesn't matter what bad blood ye think is there, Hiccup. His duty is te Berk, so his duty is te help ye. Even a man like Spitelout understands his place."

Hiccup only frowned. While the relationship between the Haddock and Jorgenson clans had improved considerably in the recent months, before everything that had transpired with Drago and his dragon army, there was still a lingering animosity firmly nestled upon two decades of cold indifference that tainted the uncle-nephew bond Hiccup and Spitelout shared. It made him hesitant to rely on his callous uncle for any sort of advice—especially when it pertained to ruling over Berk. Hiccup was still not entirely convinced his uncle would not try to usurp him, even if Snotlout had come to deny any personal interest in being chief.

"I don't understand why you don't want the job. Dad always referred to you as his right hand man," Hiccup replied.

"Maybe as a friend and confidant, but I was no adviser as far as being chief was concerned. Remember when yer father made the mistake of trusting me with some of his duties fer a day?" Gobber asked.

"Oh, yes. That...How _is_ baby Magn—er...I mean, _Hildegard_ doing, by the way?"

"Five years older and ye still can't tell if it is a boy or a girl. That child is still uglier than a Gronckle's ass. I stick by my decision—should've been a Magnus," Gobber said firmly, punctuated by a nod.

Hiccup just grinned and shook his head in exasperation. Perhaps Gobber had a point? Serious matters of running a village were just not his forte. He was much more effective as the "personal advice-giving" kind of Viking.

"Look, Hiccup—ye can come te me anytime, but ye seem te have forgotten one small detail," Gobber said, reaching up to ruffle his shaggy auburn hair—apparently people just could not resist messing with it, for whatever reason.

"And what might that be?" Hiccup asked, jerking away.

"Ye are the one people look te fer answers. Ye have been fer quite a while, now. Put yer doubts aside. Yeh've been a chief-in-the-making since ye took down the Red Death, and united Vikings and dragons on the back of yer Night Fury," Gobber answered, smiling fondly at him.

As crass as he could be, Gobber always seemed to give him an appropriate pep talk when he needed it most. Though his father was gone, he still had an uncle figure—an older male to look to for guidance. Gobber was not a blood relative, but he was more supportive and constant than Spitelout had ever been. Gobber was as good as his family—in that quirky, often "embarrassed to admit you know them" kind of way.

"Thanks, Gobber," Hiccup said.

Gobber opened his mouth to make some other meaningful remark, but a man working on his rooftop leaned over the side to interrut them, unknowingly.

"Chief Hiccup, we are running low on our lumber supply. Do we have yer permission te fly some Timberjacks te the northern forest te restock?" the man asked.

"Well, I'll just let ye get back te it, then!" Gobber said quickly, patting Hiccup on the back. "Got te head back te the forge anyway. Lots of metal te work into all of these repairs!"

Hiccup watched him limp away for a moment, wishing he would stay as a sort of buffer against the stresses of being a young, inexperienced chieftain. Gobber had done a lot for him, even if it was with a sort of reluctance before the man had ever allowed himself to genuinely care about him. Hiccup owed the older Viking more of his time and consideration than he currently gave, especially since Gobber was one of the very last connection he had to his father.

"Chief?" the Viking on the roof asked again, bringing him out of his reverie.

"That's fine. You can take as many Timberjacks as you need," he told the man. "But let's use the eastern side of the island. The Typhoomerangs should be mating up in the northern woods this time of year, and you do _not_ want to get in the middle of that.

* * *

Astrid sat between Ruffnut and Fishlegs as the ravenous young dragon riders hastily shoveled their supper into their mouths. Snotlout and Tuffnut sat across the table from the three of them, also devouring their meal as if they had gone days without so much as a crumb between them. A full day of labor could stir up an appetite, and judging by how much Fishlegs was trying to consume, he had done enough work for half a dozen fully grown Vikings—even though Meatlug had been the one putting in any actual physical effort. The Gronckles and Nadders were only a couple of days away from ridding Berk of the last few ice shards. Meanwhile, Snotlout was helping to rebuild houses while the Twins were tasked, by Hiccup, with merely staying out of trouble, and offering the occasional helping hand, if either one of them felt so inclined—they usually did not. That day however, they had been overcome with an unusual bout of generous productivity, and had helped rebuild the final demolished sections of dock.

Surprisingly enough, reformed dragon-trapper, Eret, had remained on Berk to help with the reconstruction, and expressed no desire to leave any time in the near future. He was still so enthralled with a culture of dragon and Viking cohabitation, and it pleased Astrid to see him so amazed by the winged creatures Berk loved so dearly. Every day he spent with Skullcrusher, she saw their bond grow stronger. She had been surprised the Rumblehorn had taken so quickly to a new rider, but she supposed that was just Skullcrusher's way. Hiccup had joked that the dragon was identcal to his late father in personality, and if that were true, Skullcrusher's new relationship was born out of an inherent pragmatism shared by Berk's former chief. Skullcrusher needed a rider, and Eret needed a dragon. There was nothing else to be done about it. No further discussion was necessary—just action. How very much like Stoick the Vast...

Ruffnut nudged Astrid suddenly and nodded toward the entrance of the Great Hall. She glanced up to see Hiccup walk in, followed closely by Toothless, and her heart fluttered happily at the sight of him—it was an involuntary reaction, of course, but Astrid had long since refused to let her more girlish sentiments bother her whenever they surfaced. She supposed it was only a healthy thing that Hiccup could still affect her so much after all the days spent by his side, and the countless nights spent in his bed. No, she was not quite so irritated that he _still _could make her feel so weak in the knees...but that did not mean she was ever willing to speak of such things aloud.

"Hiccup!" Fishlegs exclaimed, waving furiously at him.

He smiled when he saw them, all huddled together at their usual table, and he said something briefly to his dragon before making his way towards them. Astrid elbowed Ruffnut pointedly, and with an aggravated rolling of her eyes, the other blonde slid over a seat, making a space for Hiccup between them. As he and Toothless passed by a couple of other tables, people shifted in their seats to get a better look at the two of them. Astrid could hear a handful of her tribesmen mutter "Chief" as he walked by, coupled with a respectful bow of their heads. Hiccup looked uncomfortable with all of the attention, uncertain how to respond, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he was finally among friends.

"It's going to take a while to get used to all of that," he said, taking his place beside Astrid.

"You've been turning heads for years now," she replied, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. "Not always for the right reasons..."

Hiccup laughed and retorted, "_Really_? And all this time I thought people used to stare at my small, awkward frame with a mixture of both awe and admiration."

The other dragons riders chuckled.

"Yeah—they were in awe the gods could make Vikings so puny," Snotlout teased.

"Well, I'm glad that turned out not to be the case in the end," Hiccup replied, grinning at his cousin. "But we _do_ know they can make Vikings so short."

Snotlout just made a rude hand gesture at Hiccup and they all guffawed, drawing a combination of both curious and indignant looks from their surrounding tribesmen, who were trying to eat in peace.

Astrid had to hand it to Hiccup and Snotlout. There was a time, only a few short months ago, she would have thought it impossible for the two young men to ever reconcile. Hiccup was too intelligent, level-headed, and pacifistic to compromise with Snotlout's hot-tempered, boorish, and aggressive tendencies, but somehow, they had reached an understanding—a deeper appreciation for their many differences. Since midsummer, they had been getting along as cousins should, and Astrid was thankful for the drastic reduction in headaches their fledgling friendship caused.

"How are you liking the new job, Chief?" Tuffnut asked, with a smirk.

Hiccup shook his head and replied, "Don't call me that."

"But you _are_ Chief of Berk, and Master of Drag—"

Hiccup groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead, and Tuffnut snickered.

"Transitioning into this new role has been so weird. I need you all to keep calling me Hiccup so my life retains some sense of normalcy."

"Okay. _Chief _Hiccup," Tuffnut replied, grinning playfully.

"_Just_ Hiccup."

The others laughed, but Hiccup continued to look mildly vexed, staring down at the tabletop, deep in thought. Astrid knew, while calm on the surface, her boyfriend was a storm of emotions internally. It had been two whole weeks, but he had been determinedly silent about his woes, even with her. Normally, Astrid would push the issue—especially with how many nights Hiccup woke up in a cold sweat beside her—but there was, understandably, a lot on his mind, still left to process. There had been so much upheaval in such a small frame of time—reuniting with his mother, father dying promptly thereafter, their entire village almost being wiped out, _and _being made the new chieftain on top of it all. She decided it was best to give him his space. Hiccup was no idiot, and she trusted he was still aware of the promise he had made to her—the one to be more forthcoming—but, in light of all that had happened, Astrid was willing to give him a pass. He would come to her when he needed to. Of that much, she was certain.

She reached up to idly comb through his hair with her fingers. She hoped to ease some of his inner turmoil with love and reassurance—there was not much else she could really do for him. She hated to feel so helpless when her lover was hurting.

"Don't worry, Hiccup. We're Vikings—remember? We're so stubbornly set in our ways. Even if everything else changes, _we'll_ still be the same," she told him, gesturing around at the other riders with her other hand.

They whooped and cheered, and Hiccup smiled at them, before turning to Astrid.

"When did _you_ get so sentimental?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow

"I guess you're just rubbing off on me," she murmured.

"All in good ways, I hope," he replied softly, pulling her closer.

"In all the _best_ ways, Hiccup."

They shared a lingering kiss, ignoring the whistles and catcalls from the rest of the table. She did not know if their interaction was to be different since she had suddenly found herself dating the head of their tribe. If there was a standard or expected decorum when it came to being in a relationship with the Chief, Astrid was sure she was probably spitting on it with their public display of affection—but she could not bring herself to care. Hiccup was not a traditional soul, and as Chief, he would undoubtedly be as inventive with his leadership as he was with just about everything else he did. If there were any rules or expectations restricting their behavior, she was confident those would be the first archaic decrees Hiccup abolished—not that such things were necessarily his priority, of course. She was confident that he would, in all things, change Berk for the better-after all, he had already done so much for their village. She did not understand his reservations about his new responsibilities. What bad could come from anything Hiccup touched? He only ever found solutions, or clever ways to improve upon things—such was his nature as an inventor and an artist. He would be the first chief of his kind, and all Astrid could see when she looked at him was the wealth of potential he possessed. If only he could see it in himself, and tap into it, he would far surpass any chieftain that had come before him—including his father.

"When can I get you alone, again?" she whispered as they reluctantly broke apart.

She thought it would have been much easier to steal intimate moments with Hiccup whenever he assumed power, but since he had been named Chief, he was usually tied up with whatever duties were required of him during the day. Most nights he would not return home until late, dragging himself through the door, physically and mentally exhausted. Astrid usually waited for him outside of his house, as opposed to passing the hours indoors with his mother—she still found Valka to be far too much of a stranger.

"Come by the forge later this evening," he told her. "I should be there, helping Gobber, and hopefully avoiding everyone else."

* * *

"Ye know, now that ye're Chief, I may just have te find me another apprentice," Gobber said, compressing the bellows to feed the flames of the forge.

"_Apprentice_?" Hiccup replied with an incredulous chuckle. "I haven't been your apprentice since I built Toothless' tail."

The Night Fury warbled at the mention of his name and Hiccup quickly tied his blacksmithing apron so he could scratch Toothless behind an ear nub. His dragon often accompanied him to the smithy, especially in the colder months, basking in the warmth of the forge.

"Are ye implying yer better than I am?" Gobber asked, shaking a finger at him accusingly.

"I'm not implying it. I'm stating it as fact," he replied with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

Gobber scowled at him and Hiccup just stared back, raising his eyebrows with a mock-innocent grin. They held each other's gaze for a moment longer, then they both laughed, and Gobber waved a hand at him dismissively.

"Alright, alright. No need te go rubbin' it in! No one likes a smartass," he said. "Unless it's me, of course."

Hiccup shook his head and gave Toothless a pat on the neck before setting off to work; there was much to replace as far as latches, bands, and rivets were concerned.

"By the way...I don't think I ever properly thanked you for all of your help with Inferno," Hiccup told Gobber as he retrieved his usual ball-peen hammer from an empty workbench.

"Two years ago?" Gobber asked, removing the glowing, malleable iron from the forge with tongs; he passed it to Hiccup, who took it to the nearest anvil.

"Yes—the prototype that helped me win that fight...and every re-imagining thereafter," he answered, stabilizing the tongs before he began to shape the soft metal.

"Ehh, ye did most of the work, if I recall correctly. I was just there for ye te bounce ideas off of. Honestly, I thought ye were a bit touched in the head when ye first told me ye wanted to build a flaming sword," Gobber replied, compressing the bellows again to keep the fire blazing.

"But you were the one who thought of Monstrous Nightmare saliva—I just figured out how to make it all work."

"Aye—and therein lies the true genius!" Gobber exclaimed. "Besides, ye takin' the time te help me now is thanks enough. It's a great deal more helpful than just words. I'm afraid these old bones aren't what they used te be."

Hiccup plunged the glowing metal into water, and it hissed in protest of the rapid cooling.

"I don't mind it," he replied. "Coming here helps clear my head. It's kind of therapeutic...on a voluntary basis."

Gobber chuckled and said, "Nothing like hammerin' out yer frustrations on that anvil, eh? I know the feelin'! Sometimes I used te come in here and work just te avoid takin' that hammer te Stoick's thick skull!"

Hiccup frowned, feeling a sharp sting in his chest at the mention of his father. He swallowed down the emotional knot climbing its way up his throat, hoping Gobber did not sense the pain he fought from appearing on his face. For the most part, he could hold his composure when conversations about his father or his death were expected, but if his name was thrown around haphazardly, Hiccup struggled with the sudden wave of heartache that assaulted him.

He quickly inspected the cooled plate of iron before handing the tongs back to Gobber for reheating.

"Ye know, Hiccup...now that yer Chief, I suspect yeh'll be movin' things along with Astrid any day now?" he asked pointedly, wiggling his eyebrows.

Hiccup rolled his eyes and replied, "Berk still has a little ways left to go before it's back in one piece. I need to get things straightened out around the village before I can think about...anything else."

"So yer sayin' ye _don't_ plan on proposing a marriage contract anytime soon?" Gobber asked curiously-a little too curiously.

"That's for me to know, and you to find out," Hiccup answered firmly.

Gobber just laughed, amused by his defensiveness on the subject. It was slightly irritating that the older man could be so jovial. After all, had not his father been his best friend? Hiccup did not understand how Gobber could be in such high spirits, in spite of all that had happened. In all honesty, it was a bit offensive.

"Hiccup!" came a gruff voice that made both he and Gobber jump.

They turned to see Spitelout standing at the window, peering into the shop with a scowl. Hiccup could not tell if his uncle was legitimately upset about something, or if the sour expression was just the same usual look he had—it could go either way, really. The shadows cast on his face by the setting sun did nothing to diminish the harshness of his frown.

"Oh, hello there, Spitelout!" Gobber said brightly. "What can our young Chief do fer ye?"

"I need te discuss with ye the monetary value of the damages That Berk suffered," Spitelout told Hiccup. "It's been two weeks. Our repairs are almost complete, but I want te know how ye plan te compensate the different families fer the loss of more irreplaceable goods—like their livestock."

Hiccup was taken aback.

"I...I didn't know compensation was necessary," he admitted, feeling a little foolish.

"Then how do ye expect them te make up fer their losses? Ye don't exect a shepherd te go and buy another half a flock te replace what the Bewilderbeast killed, do ye? Where would he get the money te pay fer them, and how would he pay his outstandin' debts in the meantime, with only half a flock te provide—"

Hiccup held up a hand to silence him, and his uncle bitterly complied—it was extremely satisfying.

"You've made your point," Hiccup said. "What do you propose I do?"

"Normally, any losses suffered in war would be compensated by the spoils of war," Spitelout answered. "Seeing as how the Bewilderbeast is gone, and Drago's men have fled back te whatever hole they crawled out from, we have nothin' te collect, and nothin' te sell or trade te replace what was lost...unless ye count te dragons that—"

"No!" Hiccup snapped. Then, clearing his throat, he more calmly continued, "No. Those dragons have either been set loose, or they are under the protection of my mother. She decides what is, or is not, done with them. They aren't Hooligan dragons. I don't have the right to barter them away."

"Then how do ye propose we accommodate the many new mouths—_large_ mouths—te feed? Berk is already stretched thin at the moment. What about those clans who are still awaiting fer some kind of assistance te get back on their feet after everything that was destroyed in Drago's attack?"

Hiccup furrowed his brow, feeling impossibly clueless. These were the kind of decisions his father had never prepared him for—the kind of decisions that impacted his people for better or worse, depending on how badly he got it wrong. He did not have the slightest clue when it came to monetary compensation in the wake of war. Thankfully, Gobber noticed his floundering.

"We all lost somethin' in that battle. I don't think there was a building standing that didn't get so much as a scratch from that Bewiderbeast—besides the Great Hall, that is. If ye can find one and point it out te me, Spitelout, I'll kiss ye on the mouth," Gobber replied. "In the meantime, ye can let Hiccup get back te repairing Berk. After that, we can figure out what is owed te whom. Right now, there are far more important things fer the Chief te worry about."

"Like forging metal hinges and rivets?" Spitelout asked wth a sneer.

"Exactly! And don't ye forget it!" Gobber exclaimed.

Spitelout ignored him and glared at Hiccup, saying, "If ye are goin' te be Chief, ye need te look at the bigger picture, and not yer own selfish priorities."

Hiccup gaped at his uncle incredulously as he turned and strode off into the rapidly descending twilight.

"Selfish? _Selfish?_ How—I..._what_?" he stammered, fuming. "Are we even living in the same reality?"

"Don't listen te him. Yer father never did. Always thought he was better off fer it. Yer uncle's a bit of a blowhard, if ye ask me—which ye didn't, but ye know..."

Hiccup stormed past Gobber and impatiently seized the tongs poking out of the forge. He hurried back to the anvil and furiosuly pounded away at the glowing iron plate.

"How..._how_ am I supposed to rely on him as my right hand, Gobber? I've never been able to depend on him for anything before. I think that was the longest conversation we've had maybe...ever?" he asked, hammering away at his work without mercy.

Gobber was silent for a moment, then he replied, "I've found, when one hand is useless, it's better te put yer faith in the other."

Hiccup paused for a moment, and glanced over his shoulder at the other Viking, quirking an eyebrow.

"What are you talking about?"

But Gobber just nodded towards the threshold of the smithy, and Hiccup felt his heart skip a beat when he saw Astrid standing there, smiling softly at him. Suddenly, he could not recall what he was so angry about. Something about his uncle...but his girlfriend was walking over to him, and the subtle swing of her hips was distracting. She had the ability to make him forget a lot of things—usually somewhere he had to be, or something important he had to do—but her presence was very welcome, in this instance.

000000000

**Author's Note:** So, this was supposed to be a one-shot, but somehow I kept rolling with it and now it's going to be a two-shot, instead. Imagine that. _Me_? Getting wrapped in feels? Impossible!

Anyway, sorry about the abrupt end to this first half. This was the best place to separate it from the second half or else it would be one ridiculously long chapter. Ain't nobody got time for that!


	2. Part 2

**Author's Note: **Here is the conclusion! I had to bump up the rating with the addition of this second half...because...well..._obviously_. Y'all know what I'm talking about.

There's no real missing content between part 1 and part 2. The first chapter feeds directly into this one, but I had to cut it off somewhere.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own HTTYD. Bummer.

000000000

"Astrid..." Hiccup said, feeling as though all the stress and tension in his body had disappeared by simply speaking her name.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," she replied, sitting on top of an empty workbench adjacent to him.

He smiled fondly at her and she returned it, blue eyes locking with his green in a silent exchange of adoration they had learned to perfect in the presence of others, to maintain a sense of propriety. Words were not always necessary between them—they could communicate so much with a simple glance. There had been entire conversations carried on in nothing but pointed looks and subtle touches. In such moments, they understood each other perfectly.

'_I love you,'_ her eyes told him silently, while Gobber remained completely oblivious.

'_I need you_,' was his response as he held her gaze.

The two of them had relied on each other for quite some time—leaning on one another's emotional fortitude in times of weakness. It was not anything new, but it always surprised Hiccup how quickly Astrid could bring him respite. Her presence alone was enough to put his mind at ease, in most cases. She had long since been more than just a girlfriend—she was as a vital part of his being, integral to both his health and his sanity in more ways than she could possibly comprehend...in more ways than he could adequately articulate.

"You're always a welcome distraction, milady," he said.

"Speak fer yerself! She shows up, and ye're completely useless!" Gobber exclaimed, switching out his current prosthetic hand with a modified hammer-like appendage. He then nudged Hiccup aside and added, "Might as well have ye man the forge where ye can't hurt yerself—doesn't require a whole lot of brain power."

Hiccup stared back at him indignantly at first, but Gobber shot him a quick wink, and he understood.

"Well, if that's how you're going to be about it..." he replied nonchalantly, with a shrug, and Gobber just grinned.

Hiccup took Astrid by the hand and led her over to the forge where he could speak unencumbered, with his attention focused more on her than the task of repetitively shaping hot metal. It was not as if their conversation would be completely private, but he was not too concerned with anything Gobber might overhear—at least, not anymore. He was the Chief, and he _would_ marry Astrid, eventually. While he wanted certain aspects of his private life to remain, well, _private_...the other man just knew, or at least assumed, so much about their relationship already. He doubted they could say anything that would shock the older Viking. Eavesdropping by anyone else would have made Hiccup feel uneasy, but he and Gobber had always spoken rather candidly. The older man was surprisingly adept at keeping secrets, and perhaps, that was why his father had considered Gobber such a trustworthy confidant in life.

"I'm glad I get to have you to myself, if only for a minute," Astrid said in a hushed voice—she did not enjoy the same level of familiarity with Gobber as he did.

"I'm sorry I've been so preoccupied lately," Hiccup apologized.

"You're the Chief now, I get it," she replied. "I suppose this is our new normal."

Hiccup sighed heavily, placing a hand idly on her waist. He did not mean anything by the gesture. He simply wanted to touch her. It had been two days since they had any meaningful physical contact...two days too long.

"I hate that you feel like you need to make an appointment to see me," he said.

"Doesn't anyone, though?" she retorted with a frown. "You're only being pulled in about a dozen different directions at any given time."

"It seems like it...but you're not just anyone, Astrid."

She smiled softly and stepped closer to him, resting her hands on his chest—his heart began to beat faster; she often had that effect on him.

"Who exactly am I, then?" she asked.

"You're the best dragon rider in Berk—next to me. You're the most important person in my life—next to Toothless..." Hiccup answered teasingly.

She wrinkled her nose and punched him playfully in the arm as they both laughed. Even as Chief, he was not immune from her peculiar—and violent—form of communication, but he did not mind it. Ever since they had started dating, almost every punch or swat was immediately followed by a more affectionate gesture. He had come to accept he had to endure the first part before he could enjoy the later.

Predictably, Astrid cast Gobber a quick sidelong glance, to make sure he was busy with his work, before she leaned in and kissed Hiccup deeply. Her hands found his chest again, and the way they roamed over him, he found himself mentally cursing the layers of fabric separating their skin. She made a motion, as if she was going to pull away, but he held her tighter, wanting to prolong the moment. The feel of her lips only whetted his appetite for more of her.

"Oi! Not in _my _smithy, ye lovebirds! This is a place of business!" Gobber chided.

Astrid quickly stepped back from him, clearly embarrassed by the reprimand, but Hiccup knew Gobber well enough to know when the man was serious, and when he was being mockingly caustic. He simply ignored Gobber's remark and pulled Astrid into his arms again, in spite of her protest.

"But he—!"

"—Honestly doesn't care as much as you think," Hiccup told her.

"I swear, a man becomes Chief, and he thinks he can kiss whomever he wants, _wherever_ he feels like it!" Gobber exclaimed, with a dramatic flailing of his hands—both real and metallic.

Hiccup just grinned and shook his head, and Astrid quickly glanced back and forth between the two of them, torn between amusement and confusion. She seemed reassured as Gobber chuckled to himself and returned to his hammering.

"Anyway..." she began, eyes lingering on Gobber warily before flickering back to Hiccup. "I saw your uncle storm off looking more unpleasant than usual."

"Oh...That," he replied flatly. "I don't know how you can tell the difference in his mood. He only ever seems to have just the one."

She smiled ruefully at his sarcasm.

"Hiccup. Forge," Gobber interjected, nodding towards the dimly glowing coals.

Reluctantly, Hiccup released his girlfriend from his embrace to add more fuel to the forge and stoke the existing coals.

"I haven't been Chief for more than two weeks, and my dear uncle already thinks I'm a complete disappointment. Then again, unlike the rest of the village, he never really _stopped _considering me a disappointment, I guess..."

"I don't know why you let him get to you when you know how he is."

"Normally, I don't," Hiccup replied, compressing the bellows as Gobber hobbled over to heat up a new workpiece. "But he's kind of my second-in-command, and...when he has a point..."

"About_ what?" _Astrid asked, hands on her hips.

"Berk is an island with limited resources. Most of our valuable goods, like glass, salt, and wines we obtained through trade, and a substantial amount of that was lost with the damage the Bewilderbeast did to our port and storehouses. On top of that, a good number of sheep were caught in the crossfire, so there's another serious reduction in our exports and meat for a village that panics when there are no second helpings at supper. There was a lot lost in Drago's attack on the village, and I have no idea how to begin making up for that," he answered.

"Tell yer people te grow some backbones an' stop whinin' about it!" Gobber responded, waving his hand dismissively. "So, we'll be a little broke an' hungry for a while. That's not the end of the world, is it?"

Hiccup turned and quirked an eyebrow at him critically. Clearly, Gobber had not had to personally manage an angry mob of Vikings—Hiccup already suffered that unpleasant experience once, and did not intend on repeating it.

With a shrug of his massive shoulders, the older man muttered, "An' _that_ is precisely why yer dad never made me second-in-command..."

Gobber removed the tongs from the forge and returned to the anvil to continue his work, appearing to sulk a little under Hiccup's scrutinizing gaze. Hiccup truly appreciated the support, but there would be no more asking Gobber for advice on managerial problems.

"Well, what did Spitelout suggest?" Astrid inquired, and Hiccup was glad the conversation included just the two of them, again—it would be considerably more productive.

"He feels that I should take some of the new dragons and sell them—"

She burst out laughing and replied, "Because that will go over _so _well."

"Yeah. I can see it now...'Hey there, mom. Welcome home! I'm so glad you've decided to give us another chance to prove just how much we've come to love dragons...Now, excuse me while I take a few of the ones you've looked after for two decades, and sell them to the highest bidder—for sheep and wine!' I'm sure she'll be understanding," he said sardonically.

"Promise me, if you go along with that plan, you'll make Spitelout be the one to ask her, and that you tell me when it all goes down so I can watch!"

"Sorry to rob you of your entertainment, Astrid, but I'm not going to sell those dragons."

"Well, what _are_ you going to do?" she asked, earnestly.

He sighed, gazing back at her wearily, and replied, "I don't know."

Gobber hobbled past them, assuming all of the work, since Hiccup was consumed by Astrid's presence—but the older man did not complain, so Hiccup did not feel terribly guilty as they stood there silently, each of them with their arms folded across their chest, deep in thought. Toothless, who had been napping rather peacefully beside the forge, raised his head and warbled softly, startling Hiccup out of his pensive state—he had nearly forgot the Night Fury was resting there. Astrid, on the other hand, grinned broadly and hurried over to him, showering the dragon in all the attention he had come to expect from her.

"I bet _you_ have the answers, don't you, Toothless?" she cooed, running a hand affectionately from his snout to the top of his head.

"Yes, but he keeps them all rather close to the chest," Hiccup teased. "He makes for a pretty useless adviser."

Astrid laughed softly and stroked the dragon along his jaw. Toothless practically purred in his throat and Hiccup could not help but smile watching the two of them interact. Astrid and his dragon had developed a genuine rapport over the years, born from a mutual love for him, and as long as he had both of them, he could find some small measure of peace amidst the insanity that was his new life.

"Hello? Am I in the right place?" came a voice suddenly, thick with an accent Hiccup instantly recognized, for there was none like it anywhere else on Berk.

So much for the brief moment of calm...He just could not be left alone.

"It depends. What can I do for you, Eret?" Hiccup asked, turning to see the reformed dragon-trapper waiting patiently atop Skullcrusher at the entrance to the smithy.

How bizarre it was to see the Rumblehorn with his new rider. Hiccup did not regret his decision to entrust Skullcrusher to Eret for one minute—but the dragon looked oddly large ridden by anyone else other than his father.

Eret dismounted the dragon and began unfastening the leather straps of his saddle.

"I know this is rather late, but I'm in no hurry—er, Chief...ehh...sir?"

"Just call me Hiccup, please."

He was getting really weary of repeating himself.

"Right...well, _Hiccup_. I was wondering if I could make a special request of you. That is, if you have the time."

"I don't, usually—but make your request, anyway. Thor knows it hasn't stopped anyone else."

Eret looked perplexed.

"I, uh...I was being sarcastic," Hiccup clarified. "Kind of."

"Sure," Eret replied, still uncertain. "Anyway, I was asking around and I have been told, by nearly everyone, that _you _are the authority on saddles around here. 'If you are going to ask anyone to build you a new saddle,' they said, 'you want to ask the Chief.' So, here I am. Asking."

Hiccup quirked an eyebrow at the saddle in Eret's hands and replied, "I built that one, too. There shouldn't be anything wrong with it."

"There isn't!" Eret reassured. "In quality, I am quite impressed. But, the size, well..."

He strode over to an empty workbench and laid out the slightly worn, yet impeccably constructed, saddle of Stoick the Vast. Hiccup felt a familiar sting in the center of his chest that would not fade, even with the deep, steadying breath he took. He was reluctant to even glance in the saddle's direction.

"It's a little large," Eret said, practically apologetic. "I'm sure...you understand."

Hiccup could appreciate the hesitancy with which Eret breached the subject, but even the young man's sympathy did not diminish the deeper pain of what he was asking him to do. Eret seemed to be the kind of individual who strove for the best—who never settled for anything second-rate. It made perfect sense, then, that he had come to Hiccup for the crafting of a perfect, customized saddle for his "new" dragon. All emotion aside, it was a logical decision, and Eret was a logical man—but the insensitivity of his request struck Hiccup like a hard and fast blow to the gut that took the breath right out of him.

He had finally worked up enough willpower to inspect the saddle, running his hand wistfully over the leather his own hands had worked tirelessly. He could vividly recall the hours spent on it, in the very same smithy, building a gift for his father to celebrate his new bond with Skullcrusher—Hiccup had been worried there would be no dragon to replace Thornado in his father's eyes. It was a labor of love—an impressive piece of craftsmanship that had yielded a saddle fit for the Chief of Berk. It was a durable thing—large and sturdy. It was both practical in its size and design, devoid of excessive decoration and ornate patterns. It was a saddle that was fit for Skullcrusher, and a saddle that reflected his father perfectly. It was meant to withstand the test of time, for a man who would rule for an eternity...for a man who had always been invincible in the eyes of his son.

He refused to look at Eret, fearing his inner grief would betray him, depriving him of his privacy as emotions played out across his face.

"Too large, huh?...Yes. I understand," he said tonelessly, trying to keep a grip on his anguish.

"So...you'll do it?" Eret asked, cautiously.

"I'll do it," Hiccup answered. "I'll try to have it to you by the end of the week—but, no promises."

"Ah! Thank you, Hiccup!" Eret exclaimed, stepping forward to clap him on the shoulder. "You have no idea how much this—!"

Hiccup immediately recoiled from the gesture of friendship and gratitude. Cordiality was just too taxing for him to fake in the shadow of his bereavement.

"Please, don't," he said quickly, cursing the crack in his voice that made him sound all too beseeching.

Eret furrowed his brow in concern, taking another step forward as Hiccup took one step back. There was a time for continuing to build their fledging camaraderie, but it was not in the heat of the forge, in the still of the rapidly approaching night, when there was little else to distract Hiccup from the agonizing void in his life that his father's death left behind.

Gobber, in the interest of helping, limped over to offer his support, but as was often his way, he unintentionally was making a bigger mess of things.

"I think ye should give the Chief some space there, lad. He'll get yer order done, sure enough, but he's got a lot on his mind—and yeh just handed him Stoick's saddle. That has got te be difficult, no matter who ye are."

Hiccup let out a shaky breath and stared up at the ceiling, feeling his grief mix dangerously with annoyance that threatened to spill over the bounds of his patience. It was funny how help was scarce whenever he asked for it, but suddenly in abundance when he just wanted solitude. Gobber had a knack for becoming too involved at the most inopportune times.

"Go. Both of you," he ordered, exercising his right as Chief to make demands, as unnatural as it felt.

Gobber raised his eyebrows at him in surprise, but remained rooted to the spot, defiantly. While Eret retreated obediently, the older man required a different approach, it seemed. Both he and Spitelout shared a similar perspective, albeit with different degrees of sympathy—the real Chief of Berk was dead, and Hiccup was just a lost little boy trying to fill his father's shoes as best he could, with no clear sense of direction, and minimal confidence. Gobber, at least, was an ally—but it was not lost on Hiccup that he was not yet Chief in the older man's eyes.

"Go," he repeated, much softer that time; it was a desperate plea to grieve alone, without a witness.

Gobber studied him carefully, giving the faintest of nods.

"Right. I suppose I need te feed Grump, anyway. He gets real ornery without a bedtime snack," he said with an air of forced offhanded-ness.

Gobber closed the heavy metal door to the forge, depriving the flames of their life-sustaining oxygen. Hiccup was gripping the workbench in front of him tightly as the other Viking hurried about for some last minute tidying. He was bracing himself against the torrent of emotions swirling beneath his tranquil facade until the older man disappeared from his sight. Then, he could allow himself to break, discarding any pretense of strength and self-control—but Gobber lingered in the shop's threshold.

"Are...are ye sure ye don't need—?"

Hiccup pursed his lips and held up a hand to silence Gobber's inquiry.

"Ah. See ye tomorrow then, Hiccup."

He replied with a terse nod, and with only a couple more seconds' hesitation, Gobber slipped out of sight.

* * *

Astrid was kneeling beside Toothless, where she had watched the entire tense exchange between Hiccup and Eret. She knew, from the moment the other young man had laid out Stoick's saddle in front of her lover, things were going to unravel—_Hiccup_ was going to unravel. Even the Night Fury seemed to be keenly aware of the subtle change in his rider's mood, and he was staring at Hiccup intently. Still, Hiccup held it together. He did not yell, or cry. He did not even raise his voice—he seldom had the temperament for it. His posture was rigid as he clung to the workbench in front of him, and Astrid wondered for a moment if he wanted her to leave as well—but Hiccup was typically direct with her. If he cared about being truly alone, he would have asked her to give him space, or so she assumed as much. He had not been afraid to speak his mind in front of her in a long while.

Cautiously, she rose to her feet, giving Toothless a reassuring pat on the head before she approached Hiccup slowly. He was teetering on the brink of despair, and she did not want to be the one to push him over it. She had been waiting anxiously for an outburst—a shout or a sob of agony, but two weeks had gone by with only the occasional tear shed in the wake of a nightmare to indicate Hiccup felt any kind of sadness at all. Even so, they had never addressed it. She would lie beside him, pretending she had not seen his weakness—not because she thought less of him for it, but because he had not yet acknowledged his grief to her. To have confronted him about his secret midnight anguish would have been premature, in her opinion.

"This is stupid," he whispered to her as she stood silently beside him.

"What is?" she asked, gently laying a hand on his shoulder.

"It's just...a fucking saddle," he murmured, and Astrid was taken aback.

Hiccup rarely swore, and she could not remember the last time he had uttered such a strong curse word in her presence—he was usually the one reminding her to curb _her_ foul language.

"Hiccup..." she said softly, rubbing his back.

He pulled away sharply and grasped the ball-peen hammer he had laid on the workbench when switching tasks with Gobber.

"DAMN IT!" he snapped, flinging the blacksmithing tool into the shadows.

In the darkness, it struck an assortment of other tools, and they all fell to the ground with a loud clatter, startling Toothless, who warbled in protest.

Astrid reached for him and he brushed her hands away, shaking his head, but she would not be deterred. She took a step forward and embraced him tightly, telling him wordlessly that she was there for him, and she had no intention of letting him go—leaving him to suffer alone. He had done so for years, before they had surrendered to one another, but there was no longer a need for him to feel so isolated. They had already argued through, and resolved, that issue. He needed to know it extended to moments of vulnerability, as well. She would help shoulder his grief if it meant the weight of his sorrow would not crush him.

After another minute, where Hiccup stood stiffly in her arms in a stubborn display of feigned indifference, she finally felt him relent to his weakness. He relaxed into her touch, wrapping his arms around her in an urgent, unspoken need for the solace only she seemed capable of providing him. He could confess to his sadness and feelings of loss, but he would never verbalize his desperation, admitting to the extent of his misery—at least, not until the rawness of it was far behind him. She, maybe, could have persuaded him to be more forthcoming with his pain, if she was inclined to be so cruel. But his inner turmoil was not simply from the stresses of being Chief, or an overall hesitancy to discuss his feelings. There were some deeper, darker things about Hiccup's emotions that were better left unknown to her.

She felt him shake beneath her hands as he choked back tears, and together, they sank to the cold ground of the smithy, leaning back against the workbench—she did not release her hold on him. It was dark, as twilight took firm hold of the island, cloaking them in shadow that would make them invisible to any passersby, maintaining their privacy.

Hiccup had mastered the art of concealing his hurt, since it was the only way he had been able to function as a reviled and ostracised youth, but Astrid felt the warm tears fall on her collarbone as they held each other tightly. She could not clearly make out the contours of his face in the lack of light, and his voice did not convey heartache as he spoke—only occasional wayward tear on her skin told her he was crying.

"It's all still so fresh in my mind," he said. "Sometimes, it doesn't even feel real. Every morning, when I come downstairs, I expect to see him sitting there, eating his breakfast or sharpening his axe...then, I remember..."

"He wouldn't want you to dwell on his death, Hiccup. He would want you to remember his life."

"Right...but there were about thirteen years of bitter disappointment that turned us into strangers. All I have is about five years of good times...five short years. It was not nearly enough. I have...so much regret."

"For what?"

"Things that I said...things I _didn't_ say. Time wasted being angry and resentful because he was trying to prepare me for all of..._this_."

Astrid took that vague statement to mean the chiefdom so unexpectedly thrust on his shoulders. She leaned in to kiss him on his cheek, which was noticeably wet, but neither of them commented on it.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.

There had been so many people making demands of Hiccup since he had been named Chief, that she doubted very many of them had taken the time to offer their condolences. It was not that Stoick had been forgotten—after all, his likeness was being immortalized in stone—but there had been no time for a funeral feast in which he could be publically grieved, and Hiccup properly exalted as the rightful heir. The passing of the chiefdom from father to son had been rather abrupt and unceremonious. Manners and common courtesy for a distraught young man fell by the wayside in the interest of restoring Berk to its former glory. Hiccup, dutiful as ever, had answered the call of his people, denying himself the necessary time to mourn his father properly. Being made Chief would not change him, it seemed—everyone else first, and himself, always second.

They sat in silence for a while—Astrid did not know how long. There was much more that could be said—more sympathy from her, and more confessions of guilt and sadness from him—but the two of them never _needed_ to talk. Words just detoxified the soul, but they would not necessarily lead to a better understanding. At least, not right then. What was there left to say? How many more ways could Hiccup express his grief, especially when he would always cleave to the last vestiges of composure, preventing him from truly baring his soul in a primal wailing of loss and despair, which might have ultimately done him some good? He would never go there. His Viking pride and dignity would not allow him. He was like an iceberg, and while Astrid had convinced him to let her glimpse beneath his calm, even surface often enough, there was a depth to him which she would never fully understand. It might have irritated her in any other circumstance, but in that moment, she was not sure she wanted to navigate the expanse of his pain.

"It was supposed to be me," he said, speaking up suddenly.

"What do you—?"

"Toothless...He should have killed me."

"Hiccup, you can't—!"

"My dad tried to warn me about Drago...and my mother tried to warn me about Drago, and in my arrogance I thought I knew better than the both of them. I got him killed, Astrid. I have to live with that for the rest of my life."

"You're looking at it all wrong, Hiccup."

"Am I? How would you have me look at it?" he asked dryly.

"Drago wanted you dead. He would've come after you regardless if you tried to reason with him or not. Toothless would have _still_ been under the Alpha's control...and your dad would _still_ have sacrificed his life to save yours. Slightly different circumstances—quite possibly the same outcome. You have no way of knowing, so how can you sit there and beat yourself up over what could have been?"

She heard a soft _thunk_ as Hiccup leaned his head back against the workbench and sighed.

"Where do I go from here?" he asked, and she could not help but answer, even if the question had been rhetorical.

"Forward. I'll pull you along if I have to."

He actually laughed softly, and Astrid gently cupped his face in her hands, wiping away any residual dampness his tears had left behind.

"I know things look bleak, Hiccup...but they aren't _all_ bad. I mean, you found your mother, right? Thats a wonderful thing!"

To her surprise, he did not seem to share her enthusiasm.

"My mother..." he muttered. "_That_ has sure been interesting, to say the least."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to have found her—to know she's alive...but I'm sharing my home with a complete stranger who, for twenty years, decided dragons were more important than her family," he replied. "That's not an easy thing to wrap my mind around. It's a hard fact to just...get over."

"But she loves you."

"And I love her—but that doesn't make her choice make anymore sense to me," he replied. "How do you just...abandon your baby—for _twenty _years? She didn't think to...I don't know...check in on me? Or dad? I know we Vikings are an obstinate bunch, but _I_ ended up changing everyone's mind, didn't I? She didn't even bother to try, once she found out what dragons were really like—she just gave up on Berk. Something tells me dad would've listened to her much sooner than he ever listened to me," Hiccup explained.

"She fell in love with dragons, Hiccup. Like you did—like we _all_ did. She was willing to give up everything to protect them. Just like you were willing to give up everything to protect Toothless five years ago—and even now. Don't you think you're being a little hypocritical?"

"It's not the same thing," he answered defensively. "I was prepared to turn my back on a village that hated me for the first friend I ever had. Mom turned her back on her husband and her child who only ever loved her—for dragons, yes—but what was the point? It flies in the face of all maternal instinct. How can you justify that?"

Astrid just shook her head and replied, "I can't."

"Exactly," Hiccup said, but he sounded far from satisfied. "I've forgiven her, of course. We're starting over, I guess...but...there's this awkward tension that lingers sometimes, and..."

"And...?" Astrid prodded gently.

Hiccup took a deep breath then he murmured, almost inaudibly, "...She's not dad."

Astrid felt a stab of sympathy for him that brought the sting of tears to her own eyes. She would not cry, though—it was not in her nature. Besides, what was her sadness compared to Hiccup's? He had lost one beloved parent, only to gain another who was little more than a stranger. He and Valka shared some common ground, that much was true, but there was a twenty-year divide that separated them. It would take time and patience to overcome it—Valka was lucky her son was a reservoir of forgiveness and understanding, especially in spite of what he was going through. His father was dead and his mother had brought with her feelings of abandonment. On top of all of that, he was a reluctant Chief with a village's mounting expectations of greatness hanging over his head, and he had no idea how to fulfill them. No, Astrid could not shed any tears—not when Hiccup had enough to spare for both of them.

Then, he caught her off guard by saying, "Thank the gods I have you, Astrid."

The tone of his voice stood out to her in the darkness—so genuine and loving. She did not have an adequate response that could touch his heart in the way he touched hers, but words were not always needed, after all. If they did not speak another somber word between them for the rest of the evening, Astrid would be loath to complain about it. Not that there was nothing left to communicate—she had other effective means of telling Hiccup how she felt, and he always understood.

She traced her fingers along his jaw until they came to rest under his chin. She tilted his face towards her and he did not resist as she pressed her lips to his. It was a tender kiss, meant to comfort him—reassure him that, if nothing else, _she_ would always be there. She was in too deep, frankly. Hopelessly in love with the Chief of Berk. Whatever trials he faced would be hers as well. Hiccup _had_ to know that...he was intelligent. He _had_ to know he was not completely alone, and never would be, again.

His only response was to deepen their kiss, and Astrid wrapped her arms around him as their tongues brushed each other on a sensual dance. There was a need—a hunger—in the way his lips moved over hers. It was a desire for a constant refuge—something or someone to hold on to as the rest of his world was turned on its head. He had no father and he barely had a mother. He was suddenly a leader that had to make the hard decisions that might conflict with his very diplomatic nature. His sense of self was fractured in a way Astrid could not repair, but she could still hold him together. She could be his anchor to the part of himself they both could recognize. With every touch and caress he told her he needed her to keep him grounded—to remind himself of who he was, so he did not lose his identity in the perceptions of others.

Her hands found the ties of his blacksmith's apron, and she quickly freed him from the unneccessary garment, tossing it aside. There was no need for such a thing when she was busying exploring his body through the thin layers of clothing that remained—he did not wear his riding leathers when working in the smithy. She told him how badly she wanted him, with the way she sighed appreciatively in his ear as her hands wandered over him, and he clearly expressed his disinterest in waiting any longer by fondling her breasts through her tunic. It was a mutual impatience that consumed them both, driving them insane with a shared desperation for escape into one another. Hiccup needed to run from his dismal reality, and Astrid needed to lose herself in the pleasure that only he gave her, whenever they managed to steal a moment alone.

Hiccup gently grasped her hand as he rose to his feet. With a light pull from him, she was also standing. They gazed at one another, faintly illuminated by the moonlight pouring into the shop. Astrid smiled softly and stroked his cheek only to find there was no longer any moisture there, and she was impressed. He was always such a resilient soul, quick to rebound from emotional strife. It was not that he no longer felt the agony that relentlessly clawed in the depths of his heart. He just knew well how to contain and compartmentalize—setting more painful emotions aside until he was ready to cope, one distressing fragment at a time. Astrid had always admired that about him. She did not have the fortitude to carry such a burden and be so _normal_—well, as normal as Hiccup could possibly be.

He held up a finger, telling her to wait for a moment before retreating into the small personal workshop where he had spent many hours tinkering with his countless inventions. He quickly returned with a candle in hand and crouched in front of his watchful Night Fury. She heard Toothless warble in frustration as Hiccup muttered under his breath, apparently trying to reason with the dragon. Toothless was not amused by whatever it was Hiccup was saying, but after a distinguishable "Please, bud?" the dragon breathed the smallest burst of flame to ignite the candle, begrudgingly. Hiccup patted Toothless appreciatively, and the Night Fury just growled as he ambled over to the entrance of the shop. With a distinct huff, Toothless collapsed in the threshold, serving as a sentinel for the young lovers.

Astrid stifled at laugh at the dragon's irritable display, but then Hiccup caught her eye with the same concupiscent look he masterfully employed to make her knees grow weak. It never failed, and he knew it. She could not resist his desire anymore than he could resist hers. They were equally matched in games of passion, which suited them both just fine.

He strode into the small workshop and she eagerly followed him, powerless to do anything else. The door had barely shut behind them, and the flickering candle was only just secured, before they were in each other's arms again, shedding clothing as if it were on fire. Astrid was thankful for the light, suddenly able to see her lover's face properly, because Hiccup spoke so much louder with his eyes than he did with any other piece of him.

It did not take long before they were both nude, and Hiccup quickly swept his various sketches aside before he hoisted her up on top of the drawing table with one arm wrapped around her slender waist. They kissed again, deeply. Hotly...and she ran her fingers through his auburn hair. He sighed contentedly against her lips as he brought his hands to her breasts, gently kneading them with an air of reverence. Astrid gazed into his eyes as they broke apart to breathe, and though he smiled at her, she could still see the shadows of grief in them, and she expected she would for some time. It would be foolish to assume otherwise.

She frowned slightly and caressed his cheek, with nothing but love and sympathy to convey to him. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, before guiding her hand to lips to place a grateful kiss on her palm. She wanted him to know that in spite of it all—the smiling, the tenderness, the sex—she knew he was still hurting...but his eyes locked on hers again, with an intense affection that told her that he understood.

They kissed again, much sweeter that time, and he gently laid his hands on her hips, guiding her to the edge of the drawing table. She gasped softly with the first touch of his skilled fingers at her warm sex, but it quickly transformed into throaty moans as his mouth found her neck and his thumb teased that sensitive bundle of nerves that drove her wild. The intrusion by two of his fingers only heightened the pleasure while simultaneously awakening her need for more. There was no amount of time available to men or gods that could ever be long enough for her to grow tired of Hiccup's hands—but there was something else she wanted from him so urgently. She allowed herself to be at the mercy of his fingers for a little while longer, until she needed to reach an even higher level of satisfaction. A sultry look from her was all Hiccup required to get the message.

Her heart hammered in anticipation as he settled between her thighs, and there was an excitement in his eyes as well, though he outwardly appeared very poised. She wanted to kiss him but there was a moment, whenever he took her, that she lived for. It was fleeting, and if she blinked she might miss it, so she abstained from his lips as he pushed his hips forward. Then, to her utter joy, the moment he was _just_ fully inside of her, she saw it...

Hiccup's eyes fluttered closed and he exhaled slowly, all tension seemed to be expelled from his body as his muscles simultaneously relaxed. His head tilted back slightly and shoulders fell, free from stress and anguish as he achieved a new level of physical and mental serenity. With his next inhale, he opened his eyes, and in them, Astrid saw a sense of fulfillment that only _she_ could give him. It only lasted a few seconds, but for that brief moment in time, she was completely captivated. There was nothing else in the world she knew of that could do _that_ to him—bring him such pleasure and peace of mind that even dragon riding could not touch. He gazed at her with the deepest level of ardor one person could feel for another, and there was no doubting the love that his eyes confessed to her.

She kissed him then, fiercely, and the moment was over—romance giving way to the more carnal passions of two young, amorous lovers. Her arms and legs were around him, pulling him impossibly closer, as his hands grasped beneath her thighs, helping to support her hips as they moved in tandem. It was both frantic and coordinated—rough and sweet. Equal parts Astrid and Hiccup in a beautiful fusion of their polar opposite personalities. The moaned for each other, and pushed themselves harder for each other. In the heat of their lovemaking, Hiccup temporarily forgot everything else, and whenever she stared back into his eyes, all she saw was herself—the center of his entire universe. For Astrid, _that_ was what it was all about. Did her pleasure matter? Certainly. Hiccup would not have it any other way—but that was only an added bonus. Her real satisfication—the kind that went deeper than a momentary physical release—was making him truly happy amid the tempest of hardship he had to weather. She would never admit that to him aloud, or course, but she did not need to—her eyes practically shouted it at him.

She felt her body start to tense, every miniscule hair standing on end. She was close. So very, _very_ close, and as adept at nonverbal communication as he was, Hiccup had to have known. There was no other explanation for it—for the way he brought his lips to her ear and whispered, with _impeccable _timing, "Do it.."

She cried out his name as the spasms hit her—because, dear Thor, how could she _not? _She could say nothing else as the luscious shudders coursed through her entire being, making her toes curl from the mind-numbing pleasure of one amazing orgasm. She could not speak for Hiccup, of course, but the sounds he was making as he chased her right over the cliff of release were a pretty solid hint that he, too, had enjoyed a taste of perfection. It was indescribable—a perfect product of their insatiable desires colliding in a brilliant, white explosion of sensation. If they had never confessed their love to one another, and they had never come to know the flawless intimacy they currently shared, perhaps they could have continued ignorantly coexisting? But Astrid _had_ given herself to Hiccup, and he had returned the favor. She would die if she could not have him—that much was certain.

They pressed their foreheads together, stroking each other's hair as they panted softly, waiting for the world to materialize around them again—but honestly, there was no rush. They made eye contact once more, smiling as adoration raced back and forth between them in an invisible volley of unspoken emotion.

"I love you," Astrid said, feeling a touch of remorse for ending their sweet silence, but the timing seemed appropriate.

"I love you, too," Hiccup replied. "You hold me together, Astrid."

She felt her heart swell with both pride, and boundless affection for him.

_'Well'_, she decided, '_words aren't _completely_ useless...'_

* * *

Hiccup and Astrid stumbled out of his workshop, positively giddy as they straightened out their respective clothing. His time with her had not erased the troubles from his mind, but she _did_ manage to uplift his spirits. Underlying it all was a twinge of guilt at his momentary sliver of happiness. It felt so wrong to be so content, considering he had been shedding tears for his father not even an hour before, and Astrid was perceptive enough to pick up on the hesitancy in his laughter.

"What's wrong?" she asked him curiously, wrapping her arms around his neck—he placed his hands on her waist.

"More of the same," he told her. "Only now I am confused as to how I can possibly laugh, in spite of it all."

She flashed him a rueful smile and kissed his cheek softly. She replied, "Grief is a continuum. You're not going to be completely devastated all of the time. No one could function if that were true—not even you, Hiccup."

"I know that," he said, frowning. "But isn't there a general standard for how I'm supposed to cope with—?"

"No, there's _process_ to work through. There's not some set standard that dictates _how _you do it—and if there was, you wouldn't follow it anyway. Because...y'know. You're _you, _and everything," she answered, lightly swatting him in the upper arm.

He grinned slightly, though still plagued by a gnawing sadness. He sarcastically remarked, "What would I do without your profound words of wisdom?"

She smirked and said, "Spiral slowly into madness?"

He shook his head in playful exasperation before he wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. She held him close as well, burying her face in the crook of his neck. There was a strange sense of peace and comfort that washed over him and they clung to one another in the peaceful quiet of the otherwise empty smithy. It was funny how Astrid could be stern and abrasive at times—usually, to others—while concurrently being the a soft place for him to fall. She was half-teasing, and half-sympathetic of his vulnerabilities in a way that, oddly, kept him grounded. There was something about the way she consoled him, inherently knowing when to alternate between serious conversation and a lighthearted mockery of his melancholy. She kept him from taking himself too seriously, and when the rest of the village placed him on a pedestal, that dose of humility was more than enough to keep his head on straight.

Somehow, he was going to survive it all. Even in the height of self-doubt, she would urge him on—she would not let him fail. If he threatened to lose himself in the undertow of his grief, she would be his lifeline in all the ways no one else could—in all the ways he needed. While her unwavering support would see him through all the mourning, it was also the solution to another problem—an easy answer he had been too caught up in his anxiety to see. When it came to ruling Berk, there was no need to stress, and ask around for a suitable "right hand Viking" to help him traverse the muddy waters of his inexperience—he already had someone in mind.

"I must be going crazy," he said. "I feel like, at any given time, I'm on the verge of laughing or crying...but then you come along and talk some sense into me, and suddenly, that's alright."

Astrid pulled back from him a little, placing her hands on her hips.

"Well, of _course_ you're going crazy, Hiccup," she replied matter-of-factly, in the "soothing" manner that was just so quintessentially Astrid—he would not have expected anything different.

"How do you figure?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Sanity's not part of the grieving process."

And somehow, Hiccup could make peace with that.

0000000000

~FIN (?)

**Author's Note:** Yes. That's a question mark following the ending, because sometimes _I don't even know! _I have to go back to working on my pre-HTTYD2 fic before I make _any_ decisions about the continuation of this one, though. Yes. I know there are some loose ends here, because I wanted it that way. That's why. This story isn't so much about Hiccup's issues with Spitelout or Valka as it is about Hiccup coming to terms with his grief, and Astrid's role in his healing—and I'm sorry if you were expecting otherwise. I might address the other issues later in this fic (if I add to it), or another story, entirely (once I finish my other one). On top of that, my editor won't read any of my stories out of chronological order, so he refuses to touch this one before I finish its predecessor. Whenever he would ask me, and I told him I was working on this fic, he'd practically have an aneurysm. Then we'd lob decorative pillows across the couch at one another—and _that's_ my creative process in a nutshell.


End file.
